


Deserter

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Dark Flames [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Past Abuse, Pervy Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: “I went looking for you,” Maeglin whispered. “When I arrived. Oropher thought I was deserting and had me whipped.”
Relationships: Glorfindel/Maeglin | Lómion
Series: Dark Flames [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579285
Kudos: 16





	Deserter

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in Chapter 29 of Flaming.

Cold metal wrapped around Maeglin’s wrists, and he could do little but struggle as he was pulled back into camp.

They’d caught him before he could even leave the Sindarin encampment, right on the border between them and the Noldor. Of course, his explanation that he’d been planning to come back had fallen on deaf ears.

They thought he was deserting, and there was no way to explain what he had been doing. What was he to say? “The man who raped me daily for a year is over there, and I wanted to see how he’s doing”? They’d think he was mad, which was worse than being a deserter.

So he let the border guards drag him to their commander, who took one look and him and pronounced his sentence. “The whip,” he said, and a chill ran down Maeglin’s spine.

But he knew better than to protest. They wouldn’t care. Maeglin was, despite the years he’d spent in the Greenwood, little more than an outsider. Instead, he let his head drop to his chest and did his best to look like a pathetic cripple. It was the only chance he had of getting a bit of pity, and a respite from the torture. When they made him walk, he made a point of favoring his crushed leg, limping more heavily than usual.

Unfortunately, the commander only gave him a frustrated look once they had him at the whipping post. “Five extra,” he told the man holding the whip. “For pretending to be an invalid.”

_Damn it._

They didn’t allow himself to remove his shirt himself, instead having a guard do it for him, which only worsened the humiliation. Then his wrists were tied to the post.

Maeglin heard the crack of the whip long before he felt it, but it still made a shiver run up his spine.

He’d been afraid his secret would get out, that his body would betray him and show that he’d learned to take pleasure from a beating. But his cock stayed flaccid, which was only a relief for a fraction of a second before the pain from the beating truly set in.

The commander showed little mercy, and by the end of it, he was nearly limp, struggling to breathe through the blood in his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue.

Then they untied him, and left him to limp back to his tent by himself.

That night, he dreamt Glorfindel was sitting beside him, running his hand down his arm and murmuring to him. He couldn’t make out the words, but the infection was kind and comforting.

Finally, the golden lord leaned closer, pressing a kiss to Maeglin’s ear. “Remind me, little cripple, when’s my favorite time to fuck you?”

“When I’m bloody and sore,” he whispered back, arching into the fingers that rubbed their way down his back, toward his ass.

The dream shifted and he was on Glorfindel’s lap, arching his wounded back and lifting himself up and down, fucking himself on the Noldo’s cock.

“You’re enjoying this, you little slut,” Glorfindel teased, stroking Maeglin’s erect cock.

“I live to please my lord,” he whispered back, grunting as Glorfindel grabbed his hips and pulled down. It burned, but only a bit, so he must have been partially prepared.

Another shift and Maeglin was on the ground, his lips stretched obscenely around Glorfindel’s cock, choking as his length slammed down his throat.

Then he was over his lap, and Glorfindel was paddling him, leaving bruises on skin that the whip hadn’t touched.

Finally, he was on his back, legs in the air, and Glorfindel was watching as he stroked himself, moaning and crying from a mixture of pleasure, pain, and humiliation.

When he awoke, he was disappointingly alone.


End file.
